


your teeth

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: All-Japan Youth Training Camp, Atsumu is in love, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, sakusa has braces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25820755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi wears braces. Atsumu is fond.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 40
Kudos: 565





	your teeth

**Author's Note:**

> translated into [Vietnamese/Tiếng Việt](https://www.wattpad.com/story/237575396-%E2%96%B6hql-transfic-sakuatsu-your-teeth-%E2%9C%94)

Sakusa Kiyoomi is entering his first year of high school when he gets braces. 

He sits on the patient’s chair, looks in the mirror the dentist had handed him, and stares blankly at the reflection before him. The metal brackets are fluorescent green and the wires are a polished silver, making the green even more obnoxious against the whites of his teeth. For a few minutes, he sits there, quiet, as the dentist speaks to his mother about follow-up appointments. 

And there in those few minutes, his entire world crumbles around him in the form of highlighter green stuck to the middle of his teeth. He says nothing as the dentist turns to him and reminds him of maintenance.

No chewy, crunchy, sticky foods. No candy. Nothing too firm. Always hold the toothbrush at a 45-degree angle. A warm saltwater mixture can alleviate the initial discomfort. 

Sakusa isn’t listening at all. He’s too busy running down a list of curses he’s going to throw at Komori once he sees him. “You should get green instead!” His cousin visited a day before his appointment and managed to talk him out of getting the standard black brackets that most people get. 

“It’ll match with the volleyball uniform colors!” 

Not once did Sakusa think oh, it could be _this_ bad.

Komori had sounded so ridiculously sure, he had sounded so excited about the prospect of Sakusa with green braces that even he was excited. But it’s _this_ bad and he feels nauseous all of a sudden, jaw aching, mirror menacing in his hands now. 

There is no point in even trying to comfort himself. It’s this bad and he has to deal with it until it’s time for new brackets and he wants the Earth to swallow him _whole._

The drive home is silent. Even his mother knows not to speak to him, Sakusa is pretty sure he’s radiating lethal energy into the air. The bottle of pain relief medication for the soreness stays clutched in his hand and he allows himself to take two for the beginnings of a headache coming on. 

God, he’s going to absolutely obliterate Komori when he sees him. 

  
  
  


*

“I hate you _tho much_ ,” Sakusa says when he sees Komori the next day. 

Horrified realization fills him when the sentence is out. Komori is staring at him now, face blank as his eyes zone in on Sakusa’s mouth open from shock. Because of course, the fact that he has highlighters for teeth now wasn’t enough to live with. Of course, he hadn’t noticed the slight lisp that now fills his speech because he had refused to speak until today when Komori knocked on his door. 

Komori blinks. Stares for a second longer. “They actually look pretty cool—”

Sakusa closes the door on his face. Ignores the continued banging, walks to his room and _mopes_. 

It could not be worse than this. 

  
  


*

Sakusa sits in the back of the classroom for all his classes on the first day of school. Komori is in most of them with him, so he sits alongside him, sticks to his side because he knows that Sakusa actually appreciates his company despite the current ice-cold emitting off him when Komori tries speaking to him. 

It goes by smooth, _almost_. 

There are instances where he has to stand up and introduce himself, but he manages to get through it quickly, head down, and jaw tight as he murmurs his name. Nobody pays him much attention. Nobody notices the slight lisp as he enunciates his name slowly to avoid it being too noticeable. Nobody notices, Sakusa tells himself throughout the day.

Nobody notices until they do. 

They’re outside the gym, clutching their volleyball club applications when an upperclassman approaches them. “Are you here for volleyball?”

Sakusa recognizes him instantly. Tsukasa Iizuna, second year, and a distinguished setter for their age group. He had seen him once briefly during middle school, remembers Komori mentioning how he had received an award for his skills in junior high.

They both nod. Sakusa opens his mouth to speak, closes it when he feels his tongue against the metal and is suddenly thankful that he has Komori beside him who notices the silence right away. “We are!” He responds a little too loudly. 

Tsukasa lets them both in the gym right away, glancing briefly at the applications while smiling. “Sakusa Kiyoomi, heard a lot about you in junior high,” the setter smiles, friendly. All Sakusa can do is nod, bow a bit in acknowledgment of his senior. “Your spikes always have a killer spin.” And Sakusa’s face burns. He should be saying thank you. He should be saying _anything_ , really. Instead, he nods again, grateful when Tsukasa turns away from him. 

The vice-captain hands them each a tracksuit. It’s a gradient of loud green fading into yellow, even brighter than Sakusa had expected. To his dismay it seems to match the color of his braces perfectly the more he turns the fabric in his hands and thinks of the mirror’s reflection in the dentist’s office. 

Joining in on practice that day was easy enough, it starts slow with warm-up stretches and eases into receiving drills.

There isn’t a need for him to speak yet and he silently prays that all days could go this well—that he never has to speak again until it’s time for a change of brackets. 

It’s going so well and Sakusa is receiving all the spikes and serves from the opposite end. It’s almost _fun_ if he describes it, moving his legs, extending his arms to connect with the ball. For the most part, he manages to forget about the not quite familiar metal poking at his mouth and lets the serves and spikes come at him like a form of relief. 

Of course, until a serve goes wrong and ends up landing straight across his face. He’s only faintly aware of the pain, more terrified of the numbness that comes with it. The metal in his mouth aches. Thankfully he touches it and there isn’t blood, that is a good sign. Tsukasa and Komori are beside him in a second, wide-eyed. “Oh my god, are you okay?” 

The boy who served the ball is a first-year, he runs over and bows, rapid apologies spilling from his lips. Most of the team surrounds him now. Komori says something but Sakusa’s ears are ringing a bit. He manages to catch Tsukasa’s words. “Hey open your mouth a bit—” 

Sakusa weakly obliges, too dizzy to argue, too embarrassed from being the center of attention because of a stray ball of all things to be embarrassed about anything else.

“Hey, his braces match our uniforms!” A second-year calls out. There are a few giggles. Sakusa immediately shuts his mouth. Bitter remembrance fills him and he hangs his head down again. 

Tsukasa turns and scolds them, turning his attention back to Sakusa. “You should get an ice-pack from the nurse, in case.” Sakusa walks out of the gym, ears burning, heart sinking. 

The following day he arrives at school with a surgical mask covering half his face—doesn’t speak a single word when he pulls it off for practice. 

  
  


*

When he first gets word about the invitation to All-Japan Youth camp, Sakusa is excited. The coach pulls him to the side during practice and tells him privately about it, explains the details, and how it’s a huge honor to be selected as a first-year player. 

He had managed to settle into Itachiyama’s starting lineup fairly quickly, earning his spot as a wing spiker during the various practice and official matches they play.

The spin on his spike continues to get nastier with every match, and before he knows it they stand as winners of the Tokyo Prefectural Qualifiers. A perfect toss thrown to him by Tsukasa and a precise spike to the very edge of the court had scored them their final match point, 26-24. Komori gets a well-deserved invitation as well, it puts Sakusa at ease. 

A day before he’s set to leave, his braces get tightened. Adjusting to them was hard enough, so when he feels the pokes and prods and pulls—he dreads again. It had taken him weeks to get over the lisp caught in between his teeth, and now he has to deal with it all over again. Speak slowly, or not at all. 

“When am I able to change the color?” He asks, taking time in between his words since the newly adjusted wires hurt against his mouth. 

“In a few months.” The dentist replies, busy with some forms on his lap. He looks up at Sakusa, smiling a mouth full of perfectly straight teeth. “Although I think the color suits you well, Sakusa.” 

_Bullshit,_ Sakusa thinks irately. He reaches into his jacket, pulls out a crisp plastic bag with a new surgical mask inside of it, and puts it on before the dentist can hand him a mirror to look at himself. 

  
  
  


*

  
  


His first impression of Miya Atsumu is this: boisterous, arrogant, and unable to keep his nose out of Sakusa's business. He makes it a point to cling to everybody in the room, even if they were all mostly strangers.

Also, he has nice teeth, it makes Sakusa despise him even more. It unnerves him. Sakusa isn’t sure someone like Atsumu should be _legal._

_“Why are you wearing a mask?”_ Atsumu whispers beside him in the lineup of players invited. He’s too close for comfort, leaning into Sakusa’s space and taking it all up before he can back away. And there isn’t anywhere to go, so Atsumu stares at him, waits for an answer. Komori peeks his head from the other side of Sakusa. “He doesn’t like germs.” 

And that _is_ true. In a sense. He had justified the monthly delivery of surgical masks to his parents by deeming it necessary to avoid getting sick or catching any bacteria in the air.

Sakusa has been a germaphobe since he can remember having a basic understanding of the concept of filth. His mother told him that at two years old he always had to wash his hands at all times of day, regardless if they were dirty or not. He collected hand sanitizer at five, refused to shake hands with anyone at six, cried when his father refused to buy him another pocket hankie at seven because “Sakusa you already have ten.” 

But it’s also because when he tries smiling in the mirror, there is a flash of a green that makes his stomach churn in disgust.

It’s not so much that he minds the green. It _does_ match comically with his school colors, and his teammates expressed their fondness for his braces long since then. Tsukasa tells him it’s charming, and the rest agree with him, not an ounce of malice. But when he looks in the mirror, smiles and catches them against his teeth—no other word pops up in his head other than _gross._

Atsumu continues to look at him, this time directly at his mask, and leaves Sakusa fidgeting in place from the proximity. Thankfully, one of the coaches calls for their attention before he can get any closer. Relief floods him as they’re sent to work on spiking drills. Sakusa loops the mask under his fingers, discards it in the trash, and moves to the court where he doesn’t have to think too hard about speaking. 

  
  
  


*

  
  


Miya Atsumu also happens to be an incredible setter. 

The coaches split the group into two, assign Sakusa to the group with Atsumu in it, and have them rotate as the setter tosses to each of them.

His tosses are high, pinpoint even higher than Sakusa’s usual location—one Tsukasa calls him a monster for being able to jump. He has to jump just a tad higher, breath catching above the net as he slams it down—

A perfect shot on the edge of the court on their first time. 

Next to him, Atsumu beams. The two spikers who had come before Sakusa had taken two tries to adjust to the height at which the setter levels his tosses. 

The drills keep going. The more and more Sakusa spikes across the court, higher, higher, higher—the more fun it gets. He doesn’t make it easy, Sakusa supposes it’s meant to be a challenge judging the way Atsumu’s eyes glint and mouth smirks. He accepts it graciously. _Bring it on,_ Sakusa glares back at him with all the intimidation he can manage. 

Atsumu sends him a toss even higher than the last. 

By the end of it, he’s left breathing hard. So is Atsumu, who somehow managed to inch closer to him at the end of it, sitting close to him as they work on cool-off stretches. There’s a certain satisfaction in watching the setter’s chest rise, up and down. They had both made each work harder, and it was _fun._

Volleyball had been something Sakusa was dragged into, though he likes it well enough, it was always more of a Komori idea than it had ever been his own. 

Even in middle school, he considered himself to just be following Komori around, all the way to the middle school tournament where people praised him for his natural spiking ability. But he never leaves anything incomplete and he’s too invested in it now to leave it behind. So it sticks. Volleyball glues to him like how a certain bleached blonde setter is inching even closer now. 

Miya Atsumu might be loud, annoying, and everything he doesn’t want to associate himself with, but he can’t deny his gravitational pull—lifting him higher and higher and higher like Sakusa is a high tide waiting to be connected with the moon. 

“That was fun, _Omi-kun_ ,” Sakusa blinks at the nickname. Atsumu is extremely near, giving him an extremely dazzling smile, and Sakusa is probably _extremely_ blushing. 

His response is slow and he makes an effort to not open his mouth completely. His head points down. “What’s with that nickname, Miya?” 

Atsumu hums in response, tilting his head down to meet his gaze. He’s still smiling, even now as Sakusa’s glare returns and a scowl plasters on his face. “Would ya prefer _Omi-omi_ then?” 

Sakusa’s head snaps up this time, mouth sputtering open without thinking—opening wide in indignation. 

It snaps right back shut when Atsumu’s eyes widen as he finally notices the green braces. And Sakusa _should_ be used to it by now. The highlighter green takes most people by surprise at first when he does decide to speak, but now his chest burns in humiliation as Atsumu looks at his mouth with an unreadable expression. 

He gets up just as the coaches decide to end the day and hangs his head low as he walks to the locker rooms where they are designated to keep their gear.

Throughout eating dinner in the corner of the huge cafeteria besides Komori, his thoughts alternate between _he probably thinks I look gross_ and _what do I care what Miya Atsumu thinks?_

  
  


*

  
  


All the while Atsumu sits across the room, silently panicking because oh _god_ , nobody should be _that cute_ with highlighter green braces. 

  
  


*

  
  


Miya Atsumu is nothing without his hardheaded conviction and endless determination. Or how others put it: _annoying people_. He walks into All-Japan Youth camp and immediately warms himself up to everyone, talks to every player around him, allows for his presence to swallow the room. 

First and foremost—it goes like this. 

He spots Sakusa Kiyoomi tucked deep in a corner. There is a mask covering fifty percent of his face and Atsumu is automatically intrigued by what he _can_ see: the loose black curls, two moles above his right eyebrow, and pinched together forehead. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, probably one _hell_ of a spiker, and Atsumu wants nothing more than to gravitate toward him and latch on to that intimidating aura.

So he does. 

He makes it his goal for the week. Because he’s nothing without a goal and strategy in mind. And there is nothing a little poking and prodding can’t do.

To his surprise, Kiyoomi doesn’t make it as difficult as he envisioned. They sync together perfectly on the court on their first try and he doesn’t back away when he gets into his space like most people do when he comes on too strong. 

Then, the stretches. It’s really then when Atsumu commits to a new goal: _get Sakusa Kiyoomi to smile._

Because the moment the spiker opens his mouth when Atsumu gives him a cute nickname and he catches the neat line of green on his teeth—Atsumu _melts_.

The green matches that of his shirt and Atsumu thinks it might be the fastest he’s ever fallen in love with the sheer _thought_ of something. Sakusa Kiyoomi has bright green braces that make it look like he’s taken a bite out of a pack of highlighters and Atsumu is so, so fond. 

From that day on, he makes sure to be anywhere and everywhere Kiyoomi is.

On the court he tosses to him with all the precision he can muster, noticing the ways his lips turn upwards the higher he tosses. It takes work to consistently toss at a height that satisfies the tall spiker, but it’s worth the gentle pull of Kiyoomi’s mouth and occasional glare in his direction. 

He asks the coach if he can move his gear to a different locker, stating that the one he picked out had too much dust in it. It’s a blatant lie—all of the gym's equipment was new and cleaned often—but the coach nods anyways. Two lockers away from Kiyoomi’s, he smiles at him. His chest tightens pleasantly when he receives a familiar scowl back. 

In the cafeteria, he moves a few tables closer. He speaks loud and exaggerated over the meal and takes a few glances over at his table; he finds himself flushing a bit when Kiyoomi is giving him a stone-cold stare. 

It’s on the last day of the camp when he manages to succeed. To be fair, he had some help from his shoes and indirectly—Osamu who stopped him from getting new ones because “they’re still fine ya _ass_.”

They’re working on serves and he’s preparing to show off the jump serve he’s been perfecting since middle school because maybe, _maybe,_ Kiyoomi is moved by competency and will give him a smile if he lands the ball cleanly across the court. His focus is on the color green rather than the volleyball in his hand as he jumps up, slips on the run down soles of his shoes, and lands on his ass. 

Automatically, every pair of eyes turns to him. The gym breaks into a unison of laughter, even the coaches chuckle on the sidelines and shake their heads. Atsumu scans the room from the floor and he catches it: Sakusa Kiyoomi _is_ laughing. 

Though he would have preferred Kiyoomi laughing _with_ him, rather than at him, he considers it a beautiful moment. His eyes crease the corners, his curls bounce slightly against his forehead, and most of all his braces shine in all of their green glory against his teeth. His heart is suddenly violent against his ribcage. 

Atsumu confirms there and then that he is, in fact, a bit of a genius. 

  
  


*

  
  


The week comes to an end quicker than Sakusa expects. Before long it’s the last day and they’re all doing the last cool-off stretches. Atsumu is near him— _has_ been near him for the past six days—smiling from ear to ear. It’s not the usual sideways smirk or shit-eating grin that Sakusa suspects he only does because he knows it pisses him off, rather, he sits there looking down at his legs. His cheeks and ears are tinted pink.

Their last meal is buffet-style and their coaches come in to congratulate them on their hard work. He picks his meal and walks back to the same table, only slightly surprised when Atsumu sits in front of him three seconds after. Sakusa waits for a minute of Atsumu with his still pink-tinted cheeks in between his hands looking at him like he’s a rare specimen under a microscope and decides to interrupt. 

“Can I help you, Miya?” 

Atsumu sits up straight, eyes beaming. “I love your smile Omi-omi, ya should show it more often.”

Sakusa almost chokes. _Just how cruel can Miya Atsumu be,_ is his only thought as he rushes to tell Atsumu to fuck off, lisp getting in the way. He lingers a few more seconds, getting up to leave with the same ridiculous smile on his face when Komori comes back with his food. 

He spends the rest of dinner thinking of the sincere look in Atsumu’s eyes and finds he doesn’t have much of an appetite at all. 

  
  


*

  
  


Atsumu manages to stop him one last time before everyone leaves towards their own direction back home. Kiyoomi’s wearing the same highlighter jacket and sweatpants combo that he wore the first day of camp, his gear bag a matching neon green against his side. 

“I wasn’t teasin’ ya,” Kiyoomi’s almost out the door but he stops. Atsumu is so glad he stops. He never leaves things half-assed and he isn’t about to start. Sakusa Kiyoomi is going to realize how amazing his smile is if he ends up _murdered_ for it—though he doesn’t think Kiyoomi would murder him, probably. “I think your smile is beautiful—” 

Kiyoomi is wearing a mask again but it doesn’t hide the shock in his eyes or the red that spreads to his ears. Atsumu feels lightheaded as he continues. 

—and I’d fall on my ass a thousand times over if it meant that I got to see it again.” 

  
  


*

  
  


His next dentist's appointment is a month later. The dentist brings him a pamphlet of colors to choose from, but it isn’t really necessary anymore—Sakusa points to the fluorescent green without hesitation. 

He thinks he might thank Komori when he sees him next.

***

  
  


A picture resurfaces years later. Bokuto is doubled over laughing and Hinata is giggling beside him. Atsumu’s arm is around his waist, pulling him close as they crowd around to peer down at a twitter account called MSBY_Archive. 

The picture is grainy and poor quality but it’s enough to see Sakusa and Atsumu standing side by side in an awfully familiar lineup. There’s the hint of his green braces and Atsumu’s grin. Sakusa doesn’t even remember having his picture taken back then, much less how it managed to get on the internet. It doesn’t really matter now, he thinks, running his tongue through his teeth that have since straightened out. 

“I didn’t know you wore braces Omi-san,” Hinata says between giggles. 

“Hm,” Atsumu begins. “You were so damn _cute_ back then, Omi-omi.” 

“I still am, Miya.” Atsumu nods, plants a kiss on his temple that Sakusa leans easily into. 

“Course, you’re always cute. Just miss that highlighter mouth of yours sometimes ya’know?” That earns him a jab to his side and an eye roll. But Sakusa takes a glance down at the picture again and finds himself smiling along with them. 


End file.
